Once upon a time
by dreamingofsunshine
Summary: A progression in Tony and Ziva's relationship through a case. Sorry i fail at summaries.
1. Once upon a time

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away I was beautiful, and innocent, and whole. A very long time ago. I cannot remember that time. Sometimes I wonder whether it ever existed at all.

Maybe that is what I like about him, he makes me feel like I could be beautiful, and innocent and he makes me feel whole. But also I hate him for that because surely it is not right that I should feel like that, I do not deserve happiness, I have ruined too many people's lives to ever deserve happiness. Looking into his face through my memory I forget that. I crave this feeling, this feeling that I am not unclean, that I am human, not a tool to be used or a murderer to be hunted. I crave it so I cannot walk away as I know I should.

I look at myself in the mirror, slowly taking in my long, wavy dark brown hair, it curls down my back with such gloss and lustre that I know many envy. I hate it, it hides who I really am, I have used it too many times to coerce and corrupt, to do my job. My eyes; deep, dark brown. I suppose that they could be thought to be beautiful, mysterious, deep, but to me they hide too much, too many secrets, too many deaths. My lips are full, wide, inviting. Too inviting, too tempting, too easy for my father to use in the wrong way. They have spoken too many words ordering deaths, investigating that which should be kept a secret.

I try to be objective, to see from outside, but I cannot. After all can anybody truly go outside their body that much? Melancholy, I wonder whether all he wants is that, that which I have corrupted, which my father and the whole of Mossad has corrupted, made impure. I wonder whether he is shallow enough to fall for just that, my face, or could he possibly have seen the rest as well, and accepted me even through that?

I turn away in disgust. I am sick of being me. Ziva David; pride of Mossad and her father until she turned away from all of that to go to work for America, where she could try to forget, move on, as if she deserved that. I want to be someone else. I want, _need_, to forget, become the person NCIS wants me to be, Tony wants me to be. But I cannot, death follows too close behind me for me ever to stop to rest, recuperate.

I walk through my small apartment, touching everything, searching for something to hold me here, to stop these thoughts that drag me down. Everywhere I go Tony watches me from his place on top of my shelf and beside my bed, from there he can see the whole place, except the bathroom – it really is a very small apartment. Going into the kitchen I pick up the knife from its place by the oven. I look at Tony then go into the bathroom.

Leaning over the bath I hack it off. Dark brown curls fall into the tub. Tears join it. I want to be someone else, but it is so hard to let go of Ziva David, the dangerous temptress that has been me for so long, all my life. I try to find any areas I have missed, but cannot feel any. Slowly I look across at the mirror.

I collapse, my quick job is messy and uneven. It looks as though I am a prisoner here. Worse still is the small ring of cuts that I inflicted upon myself without noticing. Everything screams that I am not American, that I am unrefined, a barbarian, a killer.

I cannot escape, everywhere I go my past follows and there is no way I can get rid of it.

I long for him to be there holding me as I tremble against the wall, small rivulets of blood staining my shirt at the collar. I need his warmth to melt my ice, I do not think that I can go on without it, though I know I am not worth even a second of his time.

Looking into the mirror I see him slowly open the door and pad across to me, to sit down and wrap his arms around me. But I am too cold, I cannot feel his warmth. I shake against his shoulder and wonder how I broke enough to let these hallucinations take me over.

We sit together, me and my mind, surrounded by stark whiteness, ignoring the reflection opposing us which shows two people and the tub of unwanted memories that are always there, just out of mind, at least for now.

***

I do not know what is wrong. She will not let me in. I want her to, so much, I want her to tell me all about her past, her life, what she likes and dislikes, who she has loved, hated, killed.

Instead I am forced to stand by the sidelines as she goes on pretending that everything is fine, pretending that she is just like everyone else. I know that she is not, she has been through more than we could ever know. Often she begins to flirt with me, but I do not want her to. I do not want to know how she got that much experience at doing that, well I do, I just do not want to receive it. I want her to love me, to trust me, nothing more, nothing less.

I look down at her as she cries on my shoulder. I am not sure she even truly realises that I am here, otherwise I am certain she would clam up, hide her emotions again, just as she always does. Maybe that is why I love her, because she is so much deeper, so much more of an enigma than anyone I have ever met before, more so than Gibbs even. I want to comfort her properly, talk to her, find out what is wrong. But I do not want this moment to end. I do not want her to realise that this is real.

Sitting there, rubbing her back as she sobs, it feels like stealing time, but I have nothing to lose, after all I am just a single man who has been abandoned by his family. Also, for her, I would do anything.

I had not meant to end up here, invading her privacy like this, but I had come over to say hello, to talk, to check that she was okay. She had not answered her door, so, being me, the over-protective colleague, I had used my spare key to come in. I could not see her immediately, so I began to leave.

Then I had frozen. On her windowsill, in what appeared to be pride of place, was a picture of me. In a way it was creepy to know that she had that watching her all the time, but also it gave me hope that maybe I did mean something to her. Looking around at the furnishings more closely I had registered how empty it was. It did not look like anyone lived here, not really. The only personal flourishes was the picture of me and a couple of the team, there was also one of three children that I did not recognise, although one of them could have been her. Everything could be taken down in an instant if she had to leave quickly.

Sorrow had coursed through me. It was not right that Mossad should have put her so on edge, no one should have to live in permanent fear for their life.

I looked down at her, running my hand through her shortened hair. It was still beautiful, and it seemed to emphasise her harsh past. I wondered why she had done it.

Looking at us in the mirror opposite I was shocked by the cuts on her neck. Slowly, trying not to alarm her, almost like she was a dangerous animal, I brushed my fingers over them before leaning down to press kisses to her cold skin. I had not intended to, but it was an unconscious gesture that I could not regret. I did not want her to think she was alone.

***

My sobs slowed and when I slowly looked through my slitted and now puffy eyes he was still there, looking down at me. It felt like someone was rubbing circles on my back. It was relaxing and I relaxed into it. Slowly, as though he was afraid of scaring me he leant down and pressed warm kisses to the angry, but shallow, cuts on my neck.

I closed my eyes. Allowed my body to be warmed by his. Slowly reason began to filter back into my mind.

"Tony!" I gasped. His warmth was still there, hugging me. It _felt_ real. I was not sure whether I wanted it to be him or not. I stood up, praying that it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

"Mmmmm." He looked as though he had nearly fallen asleep against me. Groggily he raised his head to look up at me. My heart melted slightly, he looked like a woebegone dog.

"I am sorry." I was confused, not sure whether I should apologise, not sure whether I wanted to apologise. I just stood there for a moment looking at him as he blinked away his sleepiness. Hesitantly I smiled at him, trying to ignore how puffy my eyes must be and how damp his shoulder was. "Would you like a coffee?"

I felt vaguely ridiculous asking, but I could think of nothing else to do.

"Sure." He smiled back at me, looking faintly confused.

**AN: as usual I am not sure what to think of this. I do not know whether it makes any sense at all, but I liked the idea. Please tell me what you think (: see over here: **


	2. Pretend

She was smiling down at me and I realised that she had asked me a question. Unthinking I said "sure". For her the answer was always yes. She was standing and I stood up slowly also. Again without thinking I wrapped my arms around her, she responded, then seemed to remember herself, pulling away and walking through the door.

I followed her through into the kitchen where she began to make coffee. I presumed that was what I had agreed to.

I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but I knew she would not answer. Even so, it broke my heart to see her go around her tiny kitchenette pretending she was fine, trying to hide it as she wiped away tears.

***

I could feel him watching me. I wanted him to ask me what was wrong. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to be his everything. I knew that I would never be able to tell him though, he had already seen me too vulnerable, and every part of my training screamed not to be vulnerable, ever.

I turned away. Tried not to let him see as I cried tears for him, for us, for the fact that I could never love him enough to let him love me. I made the coffee and still neither of us talked. I did not know what to say. Honestly I was quite happy for the silence to continue, it was so much simpler than the truth. I had had far too many run-ins with 'truth' before, it involved blood and tears and knives and guns and death. Death most of all. I brought truth with me wherever I went, for what is more truthful or more simple than death?

My truth was not simple, though, and I did not have the courage nor the energy to tell him, so the silence remained.

***

I did not know what she wanted of me, what she wanted me to do, ask, say. She was unreadable, same as always. She handed me my coffee, just as I liked it. I smiled at her appreciatively.

"Thanks" I held up the mug.

"It is fine." She stared down into the brown liquid, tears still pooling in her eyes. I watched her for a few moments longer. I could not stand it. My heart was made up and it was persuading my mind.

"Ziva," She turned to face me. Her face was disfigured by tears and yet it was still the most beautiful thing in my empty world. "What is the matter?"

She looked at me like she was the rabbit and I was the headlights, hypnotising her and headed straight towards her, where I would most likely kill her.

***

I looked at him blankly. My mind tried to answer the prominent question; what should I say? Truth or false reassurances? I began to run my hand through my hair nervously, without thinking. My hand carried on even after my hair stopped, going over the ghost of where my hair had once been. My mind was made up.

"Nothing. I am fine." His eyes shattered like glass and my icy heart shattered along with them. I regretted my answer as soon as I said it. Who did I think I was fooling? Him or me? He said nothing, just looked at me. I opened my mouth to speak.

"Don't worry." His eyes melted again into understanding pity. "Tell me when you are ready." He smiled thinly then kissed my forehead before placing the mug on the sink and walking out the front door. I was left alone in a house that was barely my own at all.

Slowly I went to sit on the soft black sofa. I curled up into a ball and refused to cry. I had not lost him, I told myself, he just understood that I needed space. That was good. The trouble was that all those untold things were burning a hole through me, I needed to let them out before they killed me.

Next time, I told myself, next time I would tell him.

***

I walked out the front door, closing it gently behind me, trying to mimic her silence. At the door of her apartment building I looked up at the window I knew was hers, hoping that I had slipped into a movie, so that she might be up there, waving to me as I left. But this was no fairy tale, and she was no Mary Sue, so she was not there, and I was almost glad. I did not want her to be a character in anyone's play but her own. Although I _could_ bend that if she chose to be an actor in the play that is my life.

My car was on the sidewalk just outside, but I left it there, choosing instead to walk home. I needed the air as well as the exercise. I shuddered as I looked down at myself, trying to forget that I was heading towards middle age. I then cringed at my vanity, I mean, honestly what _straight_ guy thought that?

Then I berated myself further. This was not the man Ziva wanted me to be. I made a new week's resolution; I would lose weight, I would go jogging, I would do something about it rather than sitting on the sidelines. I had already made that mistake too many times; Rivkin, Jeanne, Vance, to name but a few.

It was cold. My breath came out like smoke. For a while I ran down the path pretending to be a dragon, it made me feel better, made me feel younger, like nothing bad ever had or would happen to me. I added this to my list of things to do with Ziva.

Abruptly I stopped playing and stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Pretended that nothing had happened. Always pretended. I walked along the empty path below the cold, stark, empty trees, pretending, just like normal.

Every day was a lie. Every day I pretended I was happy to be alone. Every day I pretended that the person sitting opposite me, walking next to me, fighting next to me, was just another person, meant nothing more to me than a partner. Every day I pretended I did not care that she was not always by my side.

Every day I could see her pretend to be perfectly happy here. Pretend that she did not mind losing her family, all of her life before a few years ago. Pretend that she was not hurting. Pretend that she was a ruthless killer. Pretend that she was untouchable, unfeeling. And sometimes I thought she might be pretending that I was nothing more than a friend to her, just as I was. But those moments were rare, so I treasured them all the more.

Walking alone between the trees I pretended. I pretended that she was walking next to me. I pretended that it was summer, and the trees were green above us, the sun shining through the leaves. I pretended that she was happy, laughing and dancing and just talking. I imagined I was watching her, completely content. I imagined she was free and beautiful. Two children walked through my mind.

I froze, stopped the picture. That was too far, that was impossible. My imagination was running way out of line: she did not even trust me enough to tell me what was wrong.

I pretended that I was hiding that image, erasing it from my mind.

Really I was hiding it, hiding it so that no one could see it but me. I was hiding it so that I could treasure it, hold it close, that picture. Ziva dancing and smiling and laughing with our two children walking towards her, laughing with her. Her arms reaching towards them but her eyes were on me, and mine on her. The sun was framing her, making her glow and the leaves rustled peacefully above our heads.

I wanted to be the one to make her that happy, that peaceful. I was not sure I could. She was too distant, too unreachable, too alien. And sometimes I thought that she was too broken, although I hated myself whenever I came across that train of thought.

I reached home and collapsed on the sofa, quickly turning my alarm on to an hour earlier so that I could begin my runs the next morning. I looked up at her picture on the shelf above my television.

I got up and went over to the bookcases lining all of one wall. They were full of videos and DVDs. I did not have to look for the one I wanted, I often watched it at times like this, and I knew my filing system off by heart. If you asked me where any one of my hundreds of films was I could show you where it was immediately.

I put the disk in the player and settled into the cushions, allowing myself to relax as much as was possible while leaving room for another next to me. I was sitting on the right of the sofa, because that was where I always sat. _"Because I am always right."_ I had said to Ziva one time. I chuckled.

The opening credits of _The Sound of Music _began, lighting up the darkened room.

***

I slowly uncurled myself. I got up and walked over to the small shelf on the wall. I smiled despite myself, remembering Tony's huge bookcases. I missed those days when we watched films together. So much had changed since then, though. Too much, I often thought.

This was the first film we had watched together. I remembered because I had said it was my favourite and Tony had been shocked, but that night he had turned up on my doorstep clutching it, a new television under the other arm.

I curled up again to watch it on that same screen. I left room enough at my feet for him to sit. I imagined him there, sitting with me, holding me, on the right of the sofa, always. _"Because I am always right" _he had said. I had laughed at him.

The opening credits of _The Sound of Music _began, lifting my shrivelled heart.

**AN: I am not sure, but I think that at some point Ziva said that **_**The Sound of Music**_** was her favourite film, or maybe I made that up, however pretend that it is (:**

**I also apologise because I switched tense in the first chapter, I only just realised, but I do not know how to change it, so bear with me.**

**Review, please?**


	3. Make believe

_MAKE BELIEVE_

**AN: You may notice that I now have names before each entry, that was because I was adding more opinions, and I did not want to confuse you too much XD**

_ABIGAIL SCUITO_

They were alone, always so alone, and I felt like I was the only one who could see that. They certainly were not going to act on that. They were both so goddamn _shy_. And there was that stupid rule twelve. I kept on meaning to talk to Gibbs about that. It was not right that they should not have a chance, just because Gibbs and Jenny had made a mistake.

I _knew_ there was a good reason for it, you see, that was why I was so slow to act. I wanted to, but I was slightly afraid of Gibbs, too, not a lot, but a tiny little bit, enough to make me hesitate. Maybe that was why he did it, to slow me down, give him time to prepare, because he never could deny me anything, he liked to pretend he could, but he could not.

They were stupid though. They were so blind that they could not see that they were the mirror image of each other. They were perfect for each other.

***

_ZIVA DAVID_

The next morning, going into work, I was tentative. I knew that the rules had changed slightly in this game we played each day. This game of make believe we played. Except it was not make believe, in that game one was totally in control, one could do whatever one wanted. Here we just had to pretend everything was as it should be, as if we had no emotions and therefore there were no complications.

He was sitting there, at his desk, working. It was just like normal except he seemed to be more flushed than usual.

"Oh dear, Tony. You are blushing as much as McGee!" It felt good to tease him, I had missed that, recently. He blushed more.

"Am not!"

"Are so." I smiled at him. "And are you going to argue with me."

"Yes." He replied at once, flashing me a Dinozzo grin, all charm and tricks. "Ah. Speak of the devil and he shall find you. Eh, McDevil?"

McGee had walked in. I smiled at my computer screen. Tony seemed better. More immature. I began typing up a report for our latest case, and to my left I could hear McGee doing the same. After about half an hour I looked across at Tony. His feet were up on the desk and he was unashamedly staring at me. I blushed like some kind of inexperienced school-girl, even though I was far from it.

"Dinozzo, are you quite done staring at Ziva?"

"Yes Boss." He head-slapped himself. "Thank you Boss."

"Right. Gear up, we are going down to Quantico, Navy wife found dead in her back yard." As I often did I wondered why people killed just to settle arguments, I could not understand it, life should be respected, revered. I could see that now, I think I had always been able to see that, I just hid it, justified the killing by saying it was for my country, it was orders.

"Ziva?" Tony's hand was waving in front of my eyes.

"Oh yes, Tony. Sorry."

"Sign of weakness." I knew that, but maybe I wanted to be weak, maybe I wanted my defences to be broken down. I grabbed my bag and moved on, always on. I looked back at our space, the four desks so close together, the four of us, so close. I smiled. I wanted this to last forever, the four of us as a team.

We got in the lift and I was still smiling, absently happy that we were together. We were a team.

"Who's driving, boss?"

"Me."

Tony smirked across at me and I could not work out why.

We arrived at the crime scene and were sent to start processing. Tony and McGee were complaining about Gibbs' driving, but I could think of little wrong with. They were so pampered. I smiled internally, glad.

I was to go with Tony to interview the husband and neighbours. I began with her neighbour's son. He was the one who had found her. I tried not imagine what he was going through, tried to distance myself from it.

"Why were you inside the house?"

"My mom told me to go and check on the house, because she thought she heard something."

_"What did you do when you heard this?" _Tony's voice drifted across to me. It was comforting to have it there, something to ground me, to stop me giving in to the alarm I felt at a child seeing the body of their neighbour.

I was surprised to see McGee walk out of the house, he could not have finished processing the crime scene that quickly.

"Um, Gibbs?" He sounded like a school boy not sure whether he had done something wrong.

"Yes, McGee. You do not need to sound that scared."

"Well, she is my sister." Both Tony and I turned to stare at him. I remembered that they had been close, very much so, so I was amazed that he had kept his composure that well. In a strange way, even after hearing that, it amused me that Tony and I had both tuned into McGee immediately, it made me trust that we _were_ a team, the two of us, as well as the four of us.

Gibbs eyes widened minutely. "Would you like to go home?"

"No. Thank you. I am fine. Just so you know, so we do not have to trace her to find out who she is."

"Still. I think you should go back to the navy yard. You know we should not handle cases with an emotional connection." McGee made to interrupt. "You can help us from there, but we will handle it here."

"OK." He turned to go. "Um, boss, how am I getting back?"

"Ever heard of a bus, probie?" Tony spoke up. Gibbs gunned him down.

"You take the car. _We_ will take public transport back."

"And the evidence?"

"Ducky can take it. That all McGee?"

"Sorry, boss. Going" He smiled, a tad half-heartedly, I noted.

"Is he that author?" The boy asked, drawing my attention back to him. I caught Tony's eye as he, too, turned back to his questionee sheepishly.

"Yes. He does write books." I was still staring after the car, hoping that he was alright, or was going to be alright, at any rate. I could not help laughing in my mind as I remembered all the pain McGee had got about those books. I wondered absently whether his sister had been a part of them.

"I used to talk to Sarah a lot. She said that they were really good, and that she was really proud of him. I wanted to read them, but mommy says that I can't, and when I asked Sarah she said to ask mommy."

"What about your dad?" I was not sure whether that might be insensitive, but I probably had to ask anyway.

"Oh, he is not in control in our house." I smiled at him. Of course. I was still amazed by how chirpy he seemed, not at all bothered by what he had seen, but then maybe he had not realised yet or was just trying to keep the shock at bay.

We wrapped up faster now that it was of more personal significance, although possibly with more care. Though we tried not to take sides or be biased we _were_ only human, and catching whoever had done this meant more to us now than in just another case. I hated myself for that, although I was almost certain that all of us, the team, did it. We did not see these as deaths any more, not really, true they were tragic, but they did not touch us as much, we had grown accustomed to it, sad though that was. Me more so, death was just a part of who I was, it always had been my profession after all. In a passing window I glared at Ziva David.

It still shocked me, seeing my cap over my head and nothing covering my neck, I was sure that the others just thought that it was hidden under my hat, but I knew. Unconsciously I reached up to my neck, ghosted over where hair should have been. I saw Tony smiling sadly at me from where Gibbs and he were waiting. I blushed, he had seen me so weak. I liked it though, a bit, when I looked at it from certain angles, I wanted to share everything I had and was with him, and wanted him to do the same. I was not accustomed to feeling like this without being _forced_ to stop it, for both of the parties involved sakes, so I did not know what to do, and that scared me more than it should.

When I caught up with them Tony was still looking at me, and Gibbs looked like he was thinking too much. I hoped that he was not putting two and two together and getting the wrong answer, whatever that might be, because that would be so easy to do. I looked at Tony again from under my eyelashes. It would be so easy to do that. Too easy. I closed down that train of thought,_ I do not deserve this_, I told myself firmly.

Tony touched my hand briefly. _But Gods I want it_, I added.

Everyone was silent, and I liked it. I liked the fact that we were all thinking, probably about different things, but still we were in each others' thoughts, and we were aware of what the other was doing. Careful to make sure we were all safe for each others' sake, rather than for the sake of the mission.

Gibbs' phone rang, shattering the silence. I wished it had carried on, that moment. Some moments deserve to be remembered, cherished. I put that one among my quickly growing list. Quickly I went through it like a photo album. I was shocked by how many contained Tony's smiling face. Occasionally I flinched as I saw one that I did not like, but had been bad enough to be remembered.

"Wait there Abby. Don't do anything." Gibbs' harsh voice broke through my reverie. I had never heard him sound that worried before. For once the caller cut off before Gibbs. "Tony, Ziva, we are going."

"Boss." Tony was hesitant, worried at the response, I was glad he had brought it up before I did. "We do not have a car."

"I know god-damn-it!" He was panicking, badly.

"What happened." It had to be bad, really bad.

"McGee crashed his car and is being rushed to hospital, I do not know what with. That was Abby, she was worried and incoherent." And that would be why she hung up. "She rushed off to the hospital before I could get the whole story off her, said something about not wanting to talk and drive because she did not want a car crash too."

"So what do we do?"

"I think desperate times call for desperate measures. Gibbs?" He looked so torn up. I could see why, I had got past stealing a while ago though, so it did not seem like much of an issue to me, especially where friends were involved.

"No. We will wait for the bus." I stared at him in disbelief.

"But, boss." Tony began.

"Dinozzo, you are senior field agent, you should know that our presence will not help them when we get there. They will be fine."

"Sorry boss."

This silence was worse. It was horrible. So tense. I knew I should be used to tension in the line of duty, I knew I _used_ to be. I used to be a lot of things though, America had changed me, for the better or the worse I had not yet decided. I also allowed myself the fact that I had never grown this attached to anyone before, so it was right that I should be more tense.

The bus finally arrived and I heard Tony cursing how bus drivers were always late.

**AN: I do not think that I like this chapter as much as the other ones, but please tell me what you think, and what you think I should do in future chapters.**


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